I Am an Oarsman

A poem.

Image by Lyu Hu on Shutterstock

There is a thudding in my chest,

a steady beat I row to;

faster, slower, keep

it

together.

I am an oarsman

though once I tilled the fields of Elysium, like

You, my brother, my sister,

my friends;

we sowed our seeds in bliss

and danced to the flute of a thousand lives

before plunging into tooth and claw,

headlong

upon a mound of rusted gold.

We learn and learn again

of that sweet and heady nectar;

it will lift your bones from cool, moist ground,

before dropping you into the abyss

It will teach you to know a sweetness beyond that of any apple,

to heed the foreman’s whistle,

to reap

with your eyes upon the soil

while nature’s distant smile is cast upon all and sundry;

doubled over

with dirt in their fingernails and blisters on their feet,

trundling blindly towards a great lifting.

Yes we have all been oarsman

caught adrift upon currents primordial,

rowing and rowing

to the rhythm of the thudding in our chests.

But truly my friends there is nothing to fear,

angels rejoice on a distant shore;

they see you and smile,

for they know you will not row forever.